A Lady Dares

by Bronwyn Scott

  Dorian was starting to thaw. ‘We’ll have to be careful through here and here.’ His finger drew invisible circles on the plans. ‘But it could work, I guess. It’s just that I’ve never seen it done. Once we get the frame timbered, it will be too late for any alterations. It’s almost too late now.’

  A little thrill ran through her at the prospect of the fully timbered hull. ‘How long?’

  ‘Two days. Then there will be the rigging to discuss.’ He gave her a wry grin. ‘I don’t suppose you designed the rigging, too?’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to discuss rigging over tea?’ Elise smiled, feeling relieved. There’d been a moment when she’d thought he might quit the job.

  With tea and biscuits on plates, they settled into the big chairs in front of the fire to discuss the merits of sloop versus ketch and cutter-rigging styles. It was an animated discussion and, for a while, Elise forgot she was entertaining alone, forgot what a scoundrel Dorian was. It felt good to talk about boats and sailing with someone who knew something about it. It had seemed ages since she’d had this sort of discussion. She and her father used to talk boats all the time. They’d talked about yachts the day he’d gone out on the test run. It was the last conversation they’d had.

  Dorian broke off in mid-sentence. ‘What is it? It looks like a shadow has just crossed your face. Have I offended your sensibilities with my position on ketch rigging?’ he joked.

  ‘No.’ Elise looked down at her hands, embarrassed over having been caught with her mind wandering. ‘This talk of boats reminds me of my father. We had conversations like this all the time. In fact, we’d talked about new ways to increase windage the day he went out.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Dorian’s tan hand covered hers where it lay in her lap. He gave it a warm squeeze. ‘You must miss him.’

  Elise nodded, not daring to trust her voice. She’d not expected such a tender gesture from the king of insouciance himself. It threatened to undo her. She managed a smile and then a few words to turn the conversation away from herself. ‘What about your family? Do they enjoy boats and yachting as much as you?’

  Dorian gave a harsh laugh. ‘Hardly. My father is a horse man and my brother, too. My father is always quick to remind me that horse racing—the sport of kings, mind you—didn’t have such plebian beginnings as yachting. He is also quick to point out that the black sheep of the royal family, Cumberland, was the one who went slumming in the first place.’ There was a naughty glimmer of mischief in Dorian’s blue eyes. ‘To which I say, “My hero”.’

  She could well believe it. Dorian and the previous Duke of Cumberland likely held many traits in common. The latter had been known in his lifetime as a ‘loose fish’, a scandalous womaniser who had taken his mistress riding in Hyde Park, and the former was no doubt following down a similar path.

  ‘Your family is not close,’ Elise ventured, feeling a little sorry for him even if he didn’t feel sorry for himself. He was alone, too. ‘Does your father know you’re…?’ What were the words she was looking for—‘working on the docks’, ‘running questionable cargos for the dockside underworld’, ‘overseeing a shipyard shirtless’, ‘threatening workers with knives to their throats’?

  He seemed to divine her dilemma and saved her the indelicacy. ‘Maybe. He’s the Duke of Ashdon, he knows everything he has a desire to know. I stopped caring about what he thought a long time ago.’

  Elise could hear the hint of resentment behind the words. She should probably leave it at that, but curiosity propelled her forwards. ‘When you became the Scourge of Gibraltar?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Will you tell me?’ The late hour, the fire, the warmth of the tea were all conspiring to create intimacies, pushing her to take chances with the blond stranger who’d fallen into her life a few days ago.

  Dorian gave a slight shake of his head, a scold, a warning. ‘No, I will not. You’re better off not knowing.’

  ‘And the Queen Maeve? Will you tell me about your ship one day? She was a legend even up here for those of us who appreciate such things.’ Stories of his ship had circulated throughout polite society: how fast it was, how fearless the captain, how the Queen had outrun French pirates by manoeuvring them up on to a reef and sheering off in the nick of time to save herself from the same fate.

  Elise wondered if she mentioned that tale would it provoke him to reminisce? But she’d left it too late. He rose and set down his tea cup, a prelude to farewell. She felt deflated. She’d pushed too far, pried too much and now He was leaving. Never mind that leaving was the right thing to do. It was late and they were alone. He had no business being here.

  Elise rose and helped him roll up the plans. ‘I hope my descriptions have been of assistance?’ she asked, stacking the books they’d used as corner weights. ‘Perhaps it would be best if I came down to the shipyard. I could be there if more questions arose.’ She hadn’t the foggiest idea what she’d do with herself if she didn’t go into work.

  ‘No, it would not be best. We don’t need any more incidents like the one earlier. I will keep you informed of every little detail.’ Dorian paused. ‘I enjoyed our evening, Elise. It is not often I encounter a woman of your rare intelligence. I can show myself out, you needn’t go to the bother.’ He gave her a short little bow. ‘Until next time.’

  Elise waited until she heard the front door shut and the sound of Evans shooting the bolt before she left the library and headed upstairs to bed. She undressed on her own and sat down to brush out her hair, replaying the events of the night in her head. The evening should have been a success. Dorian had reported to her. He’d asked her opinion. He’d come dressed the part. He had argued with her, but respectfully so and had acceded to her wishes. He hadn’t blinked an eye when she’d told him the plans were hers.

  What more could she have asked for? She doubted any other master builder would have been as gracious. His manners had been impeccable. He hadn’t importuned her with his provocative remarks.

  Elise halted the brush in mid-stroke. That was when she realised it: he hadn’t kissed her. He had simply bowed and walked out the door, taking his secrets with him. She wasn’t sure she liked this version of Dorian Rowland any better than she liked the other, which surprised her very much because she should have.

  Chapter Seven

  A walk was precisely what he needed to clear his head. Dorian pulled at his cravat, tugging it free with a sigh of relief. He’d played the gentleman tonight in high form, clothes, manners and all. It was a role he hadn’t assumed for some time, but it was as stifling as ever, limiting what he could and could not say or do. But that was society’s way—demanding manners until it made castrati of its men and vacuous dolls of its women. He understood entirely why Elise Sutton resisted. The road propriety laid out for her was unappealing, demanding she marry or fade into the background as a respectable spinster, living with her mother or brother.

  Her resistance wasn’t completely flagrant. She wasn’t protesting in the streets or walking around in men’s clothing or something equally as rebellious. She was trying to resist within acceptable confines. Dorian saw plainly what she was playing for. She was hoping society would accept her running her father’s business, that she wouldn’t have to choose, that she could live in a world of greys instead of blacks and whites. He wasn’t convinced such a world would make her happy. Greys could be just as frustrating as the black-and-white boundaries that marked who was ‘in’ and who was ‘out’. He knew, he’d tried it. Black and white suited him better and he suspected it would suit Elise better, too, if she could be made to see it. Not that it was his job to help her along that path. He gave himself a stern reminder that he was in this for the boat, nothing more.

  Dorian crossed the road, looking carefully into the dark side streets before he did. Even Mayfair had its thugs after hours. He would catch a hackney soon for the rest of the journey back to the shipyard. Only a foolish man would tempt fate by walking through the docks at this time of
night. He’d been foolish enough already tonight, sitting with Elise and letting the conversation wander afield from the business he’d come to discuss. They’d ended up in front of the fire and the next thing he knew she was asking questions about his family, about him: the two things he never discussed with anyone. Yet he’d discussed them, however briefly, with her.

  At least he’d left before anything untoward had happened. That was one thing he’d done right, although it had been hard. Elise had looked positively beautiful, the firelight picking out the chestnut hues from the dark depths of her hair, the delicate sweep of her jaw in profile, the slender length of her neck shown to subtle perfection by a loose chignon at her nape. It would have been the work of moments to have her dark hair free and her lips plump from kisses. She’d proven on more than one occasion to be a willing participant in those kisses.

  But tonight would have been about more than kissing. Fireplaces and cold evenings worked all nature of magic and the following mornings brought all nature of regrets. It wouldn’t have stopped at kissing. His thrumming body attested to it still, after several bracing minutes in the cold night air. He’d heard the loneliness in her voice as she’d spoken of her father and he’d heard the loneliness in his own bitter response. Even if she didn’t recognise it for what it was, he did. It was a deuce terrible feeling to know he’d been home for two months and no overture had been made to acknowledge his return.

  Dorian hailed a hackney trolling the streets where a party was in progress, looking for a late-night fare. If he waited much longer, his options would dwindle to nothing. He jumped in, giving directions to the Blackwell Docks, and sat back.

  The ride was accomplished in short order, a much shorter order than during the day. Without traffic filling the streets, the transition from West End to East End was far swifter. It wasn’t until after he’d paid the driver and had stepped through the heavy gates that his senses went on alert.

  Something was wrong. Dorian reached stealthily for the knife in his boot and stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. There was the sound of muffled motion to his right, the sound too heavy to be mistaken for a rat or stray cat. Besides, this shipyard was impeccable. There’d been no earlier signs of animal life.

  He swung towards the sound and called out in a strong voice, ‘Show yourself! You are trespassing on private property. Show yourself now or face charges from the law.’

  They were on him then, stupidly both from the same side. Two burly forms with clubs of their own came at him out of the darkness, but he was ready for them and ready for a fight after the frustration of leaving Elise’s with an uncomfortable hunger.

  The first attacker swung his club. Dorian moved into him, grabbing his wrist and twisting hard, disarming him before bringing a knee up into his groin. The man fell heavily to the ground, groaning.

  The second attacker was more cautious after seeing his comrade fall. He would need his knife for this one, Dorian reasoned, lifting the blade to catch the lantern light in hopes of scaring the second man into surrender. Knives had a special persuasive power all of their own and he had no real wish to carve the man up. the second attacker might be more cautious, but not necessarily more intelligent. He didn’t take the surrender option. Instead, they circled each other while he waited for an opening.

  ‘You’re taking too long. Are you going to strike or not?’ Dorian goaded him, flashing the blade in a fancy arc. Just the feint on his part was enough to send the other man back a step. Dorian feinted again, but provoked no aggressive response. At this rate they’d be here all night. The man’s left side was unprotected. The third time, Dorian lunged and drew blood. The man dropped his club out of reflex to clutch his wounded arm.

  Dorian was on him, blade to his throat. ‘Who sent you? What do you want?’ Even in the dim light, he could see the man was pale.

  ‘Don’t tell him!’ the man’s companion wheezed out between groans.

  ‘If he doesn’t tell me, I’ll try you next,’ Dorian growled. ‘We’ll see how well you do up against a blade.’

  ‘I don’t know exactly,’ Dorian’s man prevaricated. ‘A cove with money. He said all we had to do was look around and report what we saw. We didn’t come here to hurt anyone.’

  Dorian pressed the blade harder. ‘You came with clubs.’

  ‘For our own protection.’

  Dorian didn’t believe that for a moment. ‘What were you supposed to look for?’ Had Halsey tracked him down already? The blade bit into the skin, drawing a tiny bead of blood, just enough to convince the man he meant business if he didn’t get his answers.

  ‘The b-b-boat,’ the man managed.

  Dorian eased the pressure as a token of goodwill and a sign that the man was now supposed to supply more details. He did. ‘We were supposed to come and see if she was building a boat.’

  That was not the answer he was looking for, but there was no time to fully dissect what it meant right now. Dorian pressed again, his efforts redoubled. ‘I’ll ask one more time, who sent you?’ It obviously wasn’t Halsey, which meant he had absolutely no clue. It also meant he couldn’t kill them. Halsey couldn’t very well go to the law without incriminating himself. But whoever had sent these chaps would come looking for them if they didn’t return and he might bring the watch with him. Unless Dorian got to the watch first.

  Dorian backed his man to a post and reached for the twine, tying him thoroughly before turning his attention to the other man with the rest of the twine, trussing him up like a stuck pig. ‘If you won’t tell me, perhaps you’ll tell the watch.’ Dorian shoved his knife back in his boot with a grin. ‘I’ve used about twelve different knots on those ropes, so I expect you to be here when I get back.’

  That made them nervous. He thought it might. ‘Um, maybe we should tell him, Bert,’ said the one tied to the post.

  ‘Don’t use my name!’ the other one hissed.

  Dorian stopped at the gate and pulled his knife back out. ‘I think your name is the least of your worries right now.’ He fingered the blade. ‘I can be reasonable. If you tell me who sent you, I won’t call the watch.’ Dorian shifted his eyes from man to man. ‘But we’ll do it my way. I don’t want any lies. So I’ll come to each of you and ask you to whisper a name in my ear and a description. That name had better be the same from both of you or I’ll get the watch, no second chances. I can’t imagine the man who sent you would be all that thrilled to come and bail you out. He might just ignore you and leave you to rot in order to save his own hide,’ Dorian reminded them.

  He strode over to the man at the post. ‘You first.’ The name the man whispered caught Dorian entirely off guard. He knew this name. It was not a good name to know. It made men like Halsey look like saints. ‘He definitely would have left you to rot.’ Dorian masked his surprise and moved on to the other. ‘All right, Bert, it’s up to you. Give me a name that matches your friend’s over there and you are free to go.’ Dorian almost hoped Bert would give another name. It would be worth the hassle to call the watch and stay up all night sorting this out if the culprit was anyone other.

  But Bert whispered two disappointing words, ‘Damien Tyne’, and Dorian’s heart sank. the encounter mopped up quickly after that. He untied them and marched them at knifepoint to the gates, Bert being heavily assisted by his comrade, and he locked the gates behind them. Not that locked gates would stop Damien Tyne.

  Dorian went into his shed and stripped out of his clothing, carefully packing it away in his trunk. He was going to need those clothes more often than he thought. Tomorrow he’d have to pay another call on Elise Sutton. She had to know what had transpired here tonight. Dorian lay down on the cot, hands folded above his head. He didn’t expect to sleep, not right away. Tonight would be a long one and tomorrow even longer.

  Damien Tyne had made a fortune in the Mediterranean with several unethical business ventures. He was ruthless and thorough, not exactly the enemy anyone wanted to have. The question was: whose enemy was he? Had he
sent those men tonight because he’d learned Dorian was back? There was definitely enough bad blood between them from their Gibraltar days to warrant such an action, or had Damien sent those men because of Elise?

  Dorian suspected it was the latter. The man had said they’d been sent to see if she was building a boat. That didn’t make him feel better. He’d far rather have Damien Tyne after him than Elise. If Tyne was after him, he’d have answers. He’d understand perfectly what the situation was. If Tyne was after Elise, he was starting at ground zero.

  What business did a reprobate like Tyne have with Elise, or, more probably, with Sir Richard Sutton? Why would Tyne care if Elise was attempting to build a yacht? Dorian could come up with some plausible suppositions, but even so they seemed extreme for Elise’s world, which brought Dorian back to the same conclusion that had been lurking in his mind since Bert had confirmed the name: Elise was in danger.

  Dorian shifted on the cot, stretching his back. This conclusion suggested several things: his presence at the shipyard doubled her peril. Tyne would be overjoyed if he thought he could get the two of them in a single effort. Second, that he wasn’t the only the one with secrets. Beautiful Elise Sutton wasn’t as open a book as he’d been led to believe.

  It was just his luck. He should have known better. When something looked too good to be true, it usually was, Elise Sutton notwithstanding. Most men would walk away and see to their own safety. But he’d never counted himself among their number. Dorian smiled in the darkness. Tomorrow he’d ferret out Elise’s secrets, right after he got a dog or maybe two. Miss Sutton was in danger and she’d just dragged him into it along with her. Of course, that made her all the more interesting, too.

  ‘I do say, Miss Sutton, you are a most interesting font of knowledge.’ Charles stood back a step to let her precede him through the door of her town house. They’d just returned from a drive in the park, taking advantage of a rare fine day in early spring.